


Special Agent Stacie Conrad

by KKSlider909



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, F/F, Fluff, Guns, Narcotics, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of Character, Ridiculous, Slapstick, staubrey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-02 11:16:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6564115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KKSlider909/pseuds/KKSlider909
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the tin. Endgame Staubrey with a smidgen of Bechloe.</p>
<p>The Undercover Narc AU that nobody asked for.</p>
<p>(I was told to edit down my summaries/notes, so I'm trying okay.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

You are fucking not okay this morning.

You have a horrible hangover that no amount of aspirin will fix. You wish you could click that un-do button for all the liquor you downed last night because damn that fucking tequila cottonball nasty tongue taste won't leave your mouth. You show up 30 minutes late at the office with bedhead hair, mismatched dress socks, bloodshot eyes, and crooked eyeliner because you are Stacie "The Hunter" Conrad--you can rock any look. Hell, even a goddamned potato sack looks good on you.

But it fucking sucks to be you today. Your supervisor has just informed you that over the next few months you are going to be part of an undercover narc op at a school called Barden in a rural po-dunk town called Bardenville outside of Atlanta. Your recent transfer to the Atlanta office was supposed to be a promotion, but it doesn't feel like one when you're gonna be stuck somewhere rural.

The third overdose in under a month at Barden University was shit that made national news. This shit was way beyond the pay grade of the local Bardenville coppers. Time for the Feds to roll into town.

Which in this case, it means you have to fucking braid your long brown hair into pigtails and enroll as a ditzy eager beaver freshman all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Your partner Benji is positively thrilled to bits about this op and has spent the past hour on the train ride to Barden telling you about the world of a capella. Turns out your annoying 30 year old partner who looks 13 like he barely made it out of puberty is a big acapella nerd. And acapella nerds all the world over look to Barden as the acapella holy grail. You brace yourself for the nerdy times ahead.

* * *

 

You admit to owning some cheesy pickup lines. These lines are moldy oldies but your friends tell you that only you get away with using them because you are --wait for it--Stacie Effin Conrad.

You're cruising at a bar in downtown Atlanta where it's pride night and there are way more gay boys with their fag hags than there are actual lesbians in the crowded room. But there are enough pretty girls in here tonight to check out, so The Hunter is on the prowl.

You spot a beautiful blonde sitting by herself at the bar nursing a scotch on the rocks while texting on her phone. She's wearing skinny jeans, a plaid button-down over a white low-cut tank top. Your eyes wander all over her toned body and your brain has decided to saunter your bad self over to invade her personal space. You lean in within an inch of her ear and you use the grandmother of all cheesy pickup lines. You smile widely as you pull back to look directly at her face. You wait for her reaction.

"Do you always use cheesy pickup lines?" She stops texting on her cellphone and stares up at you.

"Not always." You reply, trying to look as innocent as a spring lamb.

"Liar." The blonde smirks and locks her eyes on yours. You note that her blue eyes are sparkling.

"Okay, you got me. I'm terrible at pickup lines." You dramatically raise your hands as if to surrender.

"If you know they're bad, why keep using them?" She furrows her eyebrows as she continues to look into your eyes.

"Why do you want to know?"

"I wanna know if they work."

"Trust me, they always work." You say this as you wink at her simultaneously.

"Well, it certainly isn't working on me." You hear what she said, but you could tell that her eyes were looking down at your lips.

"Ouch. That. Totally. Hurts. Now I have to run and hide or I might die from embarrassment." You make a gesture as if someone just punched you in the chest, then you cover your face with both hands. You uncover your face and give her a mischievous grin. She's chuckling now. You like the sound of her laugh. "Reel 'em in," Hunter says in your head.

You get up from your barstool and start to walk away, but you suddenly feel her surprisingly strong grip around your wrist. "Don't go."

The next thing you remember you're both fumbling at each other's clothes as your lips collide. You've pinned her against the wall in the dingy women's restroom. Shirts are unbuttoned and jeans are pulled down. Your knees are on the grimy floor as her hands are urging your head down to where she wants you. Your mouth is working her clit as two of your fingers are moving rhythmically, trapped inside of her dripping wet heat. She's rocking her hips against you, panting, gasping, moaning the name you gave. "Natasha. Don't stop. There. Don't stop Natasha. Fuck." At that, you speed up what your mouth and fingers are doing until she arches her back and lets out a loud cry.

After, she takes a handkerchief from her purse and wipes her arousal off the corners of your mouth. She buttons her shirt and jeans, re-touches her makeup, combs her hair quickly, and walks out of the restroom without saying a word.

You tell yourself you should have at least asked for her number. You think she said her name was Ashley or something? You smile at yourself in the mirror as you wash your hands. "Fuck, that was hot." You say out loud to no one in particular.

You make a mental note to visit this bar more often.

* * *

Your freshman dorm assigned roommate Patricia is a strange bird. She tells everyone to call her Fat Amy, "so that twig bitches can't call her that behind her back." She says it with a serious look on her face.

"But your name isn't even Amy!" You say with an air of feigned indignation.

After unpacking your things, you and Fat Amy introduce yourselves to everyone on your floor. You become instant friends with the girl across the hall, an alt-girl named Beca. You think Beca's dorm room closet must hide the world's largest cache of mascara and eyeliner, because damn the amount of eye makeup that girl piles on day and night could supply all the band members of Marilyn Manson for a whole year.

You and Fat Amy literally drag Beca away from her mascara wand and out to the Activities Fair. It's freshman orientation week, the best time to make new connections. You see Benji talking to some boys at the Treblemakers booth.

You and Beca and Fat Amy roam from booth to booth, picking up flyers and brochures. The three of you get called over to the Barden Bellas booth by a pushy ginger who introduces herself as Chloe.

"Hey, can you sing?" Chloe hands you a brochure.

"What is this?" You ask.

"We're an a cappella group." Chloe says as she beams at Beca.

"We make music with our mouths." Chloe explains, handing Beca a brochure.

"Uh dude, no offense," Beca blurts out, "But that sounds lame."

"It is not lame!" An angry blonde says, as she arrives at the booth with a box of brochures.

"Ashley?" You say to the blonde as you try to blink away some NSFW thoughts from your brain.

"Hi, have we met? I'm Aubrey."


	2. Chapter 2

Fuck. It's that hot blonde from pride night in Atlanta--you are absolutely positive. You see her tense up as her eyes gaze at yours. You see a flash of recognition on her face. And it goes away fast, because now, oh boy, now she's fucking staring at you as if you've sprouted three heads.

You are firmly acquainted with that look. You've given that look before to people who show up out of the blue demanding a relationship with a capital "R." You will never understand why some people get so clingy and needy after a random hookup.

You are not one of those people. You want Aubrey to know that. If you were telepathic, you would shoot brain waves at her, like say, "Look dude, we fucked once. Doesn't mean we're picking out drapes or silverware together."

Short of telepathy, because you are neither an X-Men or an Avenger with superhero powers, you clear your thoughts, put on your chill face, and make like you've never met her. You should win a fucking Oscar for this performance.

"Sorry Aubrey," you say to save her from unnecessary grief, "you look like someone I used to know. I'm Stacie Connor, by the way. Nice to meet you." You reach out to shake hands with her. You give her your sincerest grin.

"Uh... Stacie," she hesitates on your name as she smiles back at you, "no worries. Nice to meet you too." Her hand gently squeezes yours as you shake hands and you kinda sorta wish that that hand was squeezing you elsewhere anywhere anytime all over the place. God, you are such a fucking sap.

But that handshake ends all too soon and you jump back to reality.

You remind yourself that you and Benji are undercover. You are majoring in art; Benji is majoring in computer science. Your supervisor says it's best to stick to what you know, otherwise your covers would be too easy to blow. You and Benji keep your real first names, but are assigned new surnames for this op. You fucking hate it when they assign a stupid name. This time you somehow lucked out. Benji wasn't so lucky--Benji's new name is "Benji Turtlebum"--which pretty much ensures that he will not get laid in this century. You and Benji are there not to catch the small-time, garden-variety drug dealer. Your orders are to infiltrate the supply chain and find out who the big boss is at the top. Your supervisor says the supply chain is linked to the a capella groups at Barden. Your supervisor is adamant that both of you actively participate in the a capella scene.

You and Aubrey join in the conversation in progress between Beca, Fat Amy, and Chloe wherein Chloe is trying to explain why a cappella is cool and not lame.

Chloe insists that you, Beca, and Fat Amy show up for auditions. You tell Chloe that you're not a singer, but Chloe and Aubrey are very persuasive. You and Fat Amy promise to audition. Beca is noncommittal about it. Beca also adds that she doesn't sing.

After the Activities Fair, you, Beca, and Fat Amy walk toward your dorm building to hang out before dinner. As you reach into your shorts' pocket for your dorm access key, you discover a small folded paper with Aubrey's name and phone number written on it. You think, damn that woman is smooth as fuck.

"Dude, Stacie, why are you smiling like a dork?" Beca says as you open the door to the building.

"Shut up, munchkin!" You grab Beca's head and give her a noogie.

***  
"Open the door, Stacie!" A fist is pounding loudly on your door. "Come on, open up!"

You open your eyes and see that your wall clock says it's after midnight. You were finally sleeping soundly after waiting for Fat Amy's thunderous snoring to die down. Now, no thanks to the pounding on your door, you are wide awake. How on earth is Fat Amy sleeping through this infernal noise? So unfair!

You are not a happy camper. You get up from bed, keenly aware that it is your friend Beca Mitchell who is making a ruckus on the other side of your door. You want to strangle this no-good Beca Mitchell. You want to bust her fucking kneecaps. Okay, note to self, you are undercover, don't bust any freshman kneecaps unless it's totally necessary.

You open the door and holler, "What the fuck Beca! Some of us need our beauty rest!"

"Shut up Stacie! You're drop dead gorgeous. You don't need beauty rest." Beca pulls you out of the doorway and shoves you toward the dorm common room.

"Rude much? What are you doing? And dude, why aren't you in your pajamas?" You see that Beca is wearing nothing but a bathrobe with her wet hair wrapped in a towel.

"I just got out of the showers. I am sort of freaking out." Beca says as she plops down on a sofa in the common room.

You sit yourself on the sofa next to Beca. "Okaaaay, so why are you freaking out?" You ask after fluffing a sofa cushion.

"Nevermind," Beca shakes her head. "I don't know what I was thinking. I thought you could help me. I'm sorry I woke you. I really don't want to talk about it." Beca has a defeated expression on her face.

"Beca, we're friends, right?"

"Yeah."

"Friends tell each other stuff. I'm your totally awake friend. You can't just wake me up for nothing. That's an asshole thing to do."

"I'm sorry."

"You can't clam up on me now, asshole. You can't be freaking out about nothing. Spill, damn it. If you don't spill, I swear to God, I will murder you with my bare hands and get Fat Amy to help me hide your body." You fake an uppercut to Beca's chin and then fake a few punches to her torso.

"Alright. Alright." Beca laughs and gives you a sheepish grin.

"Dude, your roommate Kimmy Jin would probably help me murder you." Your arms are akimbo as you glare at Beca.

Beca sighs dramatically and slumps further into the couch. "Um...okay, where to start..." Beca pauses for a minute, then says nonchalantly, "Chloe was in the shower with me."

"Wait, what?! Like duuuude! Are you punking me right now? Was there shower sex? I'm being punked, right?" You say as you quickly scan the room for hidden cameras.

"No shower sex! And no, you are not being punked. Chloe walked in on me while I was taking a shower tonight." Beca has this serious look on her face now.

"Why would a senior be hanging out in the freshman dorm showers?" You ask, because you are curious if seniors often shower with freshman at Barden. You wonder if it's a thing at Barden. You wonder if Aubrey does that. Or, is Chloe just some weird chick with a freshman fetish.

"Beats me." Beca continues, "She said she was taking a shower and heard me singing in the shower. She joined me in my stall and sort of forced me to sing 'Titanium' with her. She said it's her lady jam."

"Jeez!" You gasp. You will never be able to hear "Titanium" again without thinking of Chloe jamming her ladybits to it.

Beca rubs her eyes and keeps dropping bombs on you. "All of it, I saw all her junk. She refused to leave my stall until I promised to audition for the Bellas."

You can only imagine how hilarious it would've been to see Beca reacting to the sight of Chloe's junk. You chuckle at that. "Wow, I told you that ginger isn't the type to take no for an answer. So why are you freaking out?"

"I'm freaking out because... because..." Beca is slightly blushing and you think she's looking like an adorable little Christmas elf.

Your brain is adding up why she's blushing. You are giggling on the inside when you eventually say, "Dude, you're crushin' on her, aren't you?"

Beca is silent. You realize that Beca's blushing face has turned beet red. "Woah Beca! You are beet red!"

"Is it that obvious?" Beca looks worried.

"Hey, it's okay if you're crushin' on her. Nothing wrong with that."

Beca confesses, "I've never thought of a girl in that way."

You reach out and surround Beca in a tight bear hug. "Beca, for a first girl crush, you sure lucked out. How many people can say they got to see their crush butt naked? Dude, you are practically halfway to banging her! As far as I'm concerned, it's a win-win." You waggle your eyebrows at Beca. You give her a shit-eating grin.

"Stacie, please don't use the word 'bang' again." Beca winces as she utters the word.

You laugh at that. You are enjoying this too much. You fucking love your persona as the chick with zero filter. Hell, if this narc op doesn't pan out, you at least will have had loads of fun making Beca squirm everyday.

"Beca, you can't expect me to not use the word 'bang' now that you've banned it." You really can't resist as you proclaim, "I think I'm gonna call my next art project: Operation Lady Jam--When Beca Bangs Chloe."

"Oh my god, Stacie! I hate you so much right now."


	3. Chapter 3

You hate to admit this but you've probably lost your chill. Yeah, that chill thingamajig you used to have plenty of. You know the bible verse those old testament dudes were writing about you, it goes: blah, blah, blah, thy chill runneth over. Turns out, that chill grew wings and flew out the window when Aubrey gave you her number. You are never gonna hear the end of it, should any of your friends back home find out.

Instead of waiting a few days to contact Aubrey, you texted her the very next morning after the Activities Fair. She texted you her address, adding that her roommate Chloe was gonna be out all day. You promptly sprinted across campus to her apartment and proceeded to fuck her brains out. You explained that your name was Natasha for random hookups at bars, but that Stacie's your real name. She said her club name was Ashley for the same reason. She said something about not having any time for relationships, to which you replied that you have no time either. But the two of you must have impressive time management skills, because you and Aubrey always seem to have time for meaningless sex. You've banged her a couple times already this week between classes and it's been working out nicely.

Now she is here naked, in your dorm room bed with her head between your thighs as you’re on your back. Your legs are trembling. You are failing at trying not to scream too loudly as you come hard for the umpteenth time. Your roommate Fat Amy is staying with one of her boyfriends tonight, so you had wasted no time in texting Aubrey. Your neighbors must despise you, but like you give a rat's ass.

You have Aubrey Posen going to town on your pussy and you swear she’s doing the Lord's work. She’s humming as her mouth is sucking on your clit and you find yourself addicted to that sound. The room is silent but for your panting/gasping and that deliciously filthy humming/sucking sound from Aubrey's mouth. You love looking down past your breasts and seeing her blonde head working so diligently for your pleasure.

“Stacie, you taste so fucking good.” Aubrey slows down and stops sucking on your clit as you come down. Your breathing is ragged and you whimper when she eases her long fingers out of your folds. She tilts her chin up so that her intense eyes are locked onto yours. Her pupils are still totally blown. She looks so damned beautiful with your cum all over her lips.

“Aubrey, I’m not sure I can handle another round.” You regret you had to utter these words to a girl this super hot. You really need to take a quick breather. You gently guide her head up. You give her a big wet sloppy kiss. You smile into the kiss as you taste yourself on her lips. Your fingers that were loosely tangled in her soft blonde tresses are now gripping her head to pull her closer. You flip her over and straddle her hips. You kiss your way up her neck from the collarbone until you get to the spot below her earlobe. You found out this is one of Aubrey's sensitive areas and you know she squeaks whenever you drag your tongue or teeth over it. Your teeth graze ever so slowly on that area until you hear a tiny squeak from the back of Aubrey's throat. You smirk upon hearing this.

“Woman, don't deny it this time! You squeaked!” You say with a serious expression on your face.

“Stacie, how many times do we have to go over this? I moan, I whimper, I cry, I scream. I don't squeak. Squeak is not a part of my sex sounds repertoire!”

“It so is! Seriously, I need to turn on an audio recorder the next time we have sex, because you do squeak!” You peel yourself off Aubrey's torso and walk over to the mini-frig to grab two bottles of cold water.

“Don't you dare audio record us having sex!”

“Aubrey, how else am I supposed to prove to you that you squeak?” You hand over a bottle of water to Aubrey. You sit on your bed and drink the water, then you pout at Aubrey.

“Stacie, no.” Aubrey drinks from her bottle and narrows her eyes at you.

“Come on, Aubrey. Don't you want to hear for yourself? Your squeak hits a high A sharp / B flat note. Perfect pitch.” You had piano lessons as a kid--who the fuck knew this would come in handy for identifying sex sounds?

“Still no.” Aubrey says. She gets out of bed. She is giving you her “I am not amused” face, while she presumably searches for her clothing which are strewn haphazardly in different parts of your room.

“Your bra and panties are on Fat Amy’s bed.” You say as she continues to stand in the middle of your room without a stitch of clothing on. Her lips are pursed and her eyes are scanning the room in search of something. You swallow hard as you stare at those perfect boobs, tight abs, firm ass. 

“I’m not looking for my bra and panties. Where’s my purse?”

“Aubrey, your purse is under my bed.”

She leans down and reaches for her purse. She goes through her purse and takes out a small Ziploc bag containing a leafy green substance, along with a pipe and a lighter. She sits next to you on your bed and starts to stuff the pipe bowl with the leaves. She flicks open the lighter and fires up the bowl. She takes a few puffs from the mouthpiece of the pipe, then leans back on the headboard of your bed.

“Did you bring enough to share with me this time?” You smile like an eager beaver at her.

“Yeah, I did. But if you keep insisting that I squeak, maybe I won't share.”

“That's mean!” You pout, then you give her your patent-pending, world-famous “puppy eyes” look.

“Okay, okay, don't give me the puppy eyes. Oh agony, anything but the puppy eyes! Sweet baby Jesus! I can't say no to those puppy eyes!” Aubrey giggles, then hands you the lighter and pipe. She gives you a quick peck on your cheek and smiles widely at you. You smile back after withdrawing your highly effective puppy eyes.

You light the bowl and take a puff. You close your eyes and lean back on the headboard. You can tell it's expensive weed.

“Duuuude Aubrey, this is the good shit. Way better than the cheap weed those dudes from the High Notes are smoking.”

“Yup, it’s the good shit. Auditions are tomorrow morning, so I didn't want us to be all burnt out.” She grabs the pipe and lighter, taking another hit. “Wait, you’ve been hanging out with the High Notes?”

“Nah, I was desperate to get some. The High Notes only have the cheap stuff. It sucks to be a freshman. I mean, back in high school, I knew who to get the good shit from. But here at Barden, I don't have a clue.”

“Oh, the trials and tribulations of being a freshman!” Aubrey chuckles.

“Come on, Aubrey. Hook me up.”

“You get your cute ass to auditions tomorrow and maybe I’ll help you out.”

“I already said I was going.”

“Bring that alt-girl Beca to auditions. Chloe keeps nagging me about reminding you.” Aubrey says as she tucks some more leaves into the bowl.

“Chloe knows we're hanging out?” You arch one eyebrow at her.

“Chloe's my best friend. Best friends talk, you know.” Aubrey says with a smug grin. “She’s been my best friend since we met in freshman year. We’re best friends who occasionally braid each other’s hair. We’re best friends who occasionally share clothes. We’re best friends who want to win the ICCA Finals this year. Ahhh, the ICCA Finals--that’s the dream.”

You take the pipe and lighter out of her hands, placing them on your nightstand.

“Aubrey, just shut up and fuck me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I appreciate it.


End file.
